


Cut to the Bone

by Dangereuse



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Flagrantly Not Good Behavior, Fucked up People In Love, Hopping on that Gorgeous Mob AU Train!, Infidelity, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Mob AU, Romanticized Views of Shitty Behavior, Sid is too but He Hides it Better, Threats of Violence, Zhenya is a Dick, threats of murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-22 01:00:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13752939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangereuse/pseuds/Dangereuse
Summary: “I’m have to go,” Zhenya said regretfully, and Sid slipped him back too much tongue. Nothing too extravagant, but it didn’t take much when Zhenya knew Sid hated public displays of affection and craved every drop out of Sid he could get. At least that much could be counted on.Sid wanted to memorize the taste of Zhenya’s mouth as best he knew how.“I’m leave Kuly with you,” Zhenya murmured when he came up for air.“No need,” Sid said, and he knew it was a little too bland so he smiled to cover it up. “It’s a public airport. I’ll be fine. It’ll be easier on the metal detectors.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My dog totally walked across my keyboard before I posted this so if there's totally random letters and junk somewhere blame her cute little ass.

Sidney shrugged his coat farther over his shoulders and ignored the way Zhenya was still talking to his right hand, Kulemin.

 

It was fine, Sid reasoned. He could be patient, as he always was. Now that he had made the decision it was easier. His skin didn’t ache with impatience just standing here, purely decorative and bored. He felt like he had when he first married Zhenya, when he could have waited hours and any irritation he would have felt would have melted away the second Zhenya smiled at him.

 

Back when Zhenya had loved him.

 

Zhenya concluded his business with Kulemin with a broad hard clap on the man’s shoulder, roughly pocketing something Sid could definitely guess at, before heading over to Sid. Zhenya grinned, bright and just a bit wicked, and Sid’s heart began to pang because he knew a joke was coming, something cute and annoying and wicked all at once, something that Zhenya’s tongue would peek out the corner of his mouth at.

 

Zhenya’s phone rang.

 

Zhenya’s expression lost all its gaiety immediately, firming up and going blank in the way that Sid had told himself over and over that he didn’t hate.

 

“Da,” Zhenya barked, turning his face away, but still moving close enough to put his hand on Sid’s back, low and possessive.

 

He started leading Sid to the car, growling in low, thick Russian.

 

Sid toned it out. He could understand it if he tried, but he’d learned long ago that he didn’t want to know.

 

Sid preoccupied himself with staring out the window instead, watching the sodden trees and grey skies whip past. He let Zhenya’s voice soothe his jitters.

 

He’d miss it.

 

“Sid.” Zhenya finally turned to him, tucking his phone in a pocket of his suit. Sid resented how Zhenya’s attention made him thrill, and he intensified his focus out the window. “Nervous?” Zhenya crooned, his voice warm and soft; the hand Zhenya brought to his cheek was tender. Sid forced himself not to lean into it.

 

“No more than usual.” Sid kept looking out the window, until Zhenya’s hand firmed up on his cheek and he _had_ to turn into it.

 

“I’m make sure you have aisle, like you like.”

 

 _Read: Kulemin made sure I have the aisle as I like_ , and wasn’t that the just the damn problem in the first place.

 

Sid forced himself to smile, but he knew it didn’t quite sit right on his face. “Of course.”

 

Zhenya chucked him on the chin, before carefully hooking his thumb on Sid’s bottom lip, invasive enough that the pad rested on the slick inside. “I’m get you _best_ ,” Zhenya rumbled, and Sid figured that the way his insides warmed was just conditioning at this point.

 

Sid slowly pulled his lip out from Zhenya’s thumb. He didn’t need to blow Zhenya in the backseat of this limo today, didn’t need to walk in that airport full of Zhenya and slick in the best ways, didn’t need to start his new life still reeking of the old one.

 

Zhenya didn’t seem to notice. “Most best. Get you present. Think of me.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a box. He waved it in front of Sid, to tease, but Sid couldn’t make himself lunge for it and Zhenya gave it over without a fight.

 

Sid accepted it, practiced. Kulemin had good taste.

 

It was a watch. It was simple. It was elegant. Sid hated it even as he let Zhenya fasten it to his wrist, even as he tilted his lips up for a kiss.

 

It was brief, mercifully, a quick brush of lips and the briefest slick suck of his bottom lip, and afterwards Sid couldn’t help poking at his own sores: “You don’t have to get me something every time I leave.”

 

Zhenya just flapped one of his big hands in dismissal. “Not be stupid. I’m miss, so I get.”

 

The effect was completely ruined by Zhenya turning his head to look out the window as the car pulled to a stop, voice trailing lower.

 

“Here,” he crowed, enthusiastic, and Sid wondered where Zhenya had to be afterward. How much time it would take if it went well. If it went bad. No matter. Zhenya wouldn’t go back home until tonight, whether that was early afternoon or mid-next-day morning, and Sid’s note would keep. It would keep all the way through Sid’s flight, would keep until well after he disappeared on the other side.

 

Sid held that in his head as he let Zhenya help him out of the car, as Zhenya kissed him, too hot and too sloppy and too good for a public place. He was making a point, and for once, Sid let him.

 

“I’m have to go,” Zhenya said regretfully, and Sid slipped him back too much tongue. Nothing too extravagant, but it didn’t take much when Zhenya knew Sid hated public displays of affection and craved every drop out of Sid he could get. At least that much could be counted on.

 

Sid wanted to memorize the taste of Zhenya’s mouth as best he knew how.

 

 “I’m leave Kuly with you,” Zhenya murmured when he came up for air. 

 

“No need,” Sid said, and he knew it was a little too bland so he smiled to cover it up. “It’s a public airport; I’ll be fine. It’ll be easier on the metal detectors.” His voice went from bland to too harsh, and Sid nearly winced as Zhenya looked at him for a long moment.

 

Zhenya ran his thumb over Sid’s lips one more time. “Sid be pouty, I see,” and they were familiar words, a familiar tease, but when Zhenya flicked his wrist and Kulemin fell into step behind him again, Sid couldn’t help but relax.

 

“Bye Sid,” Zhenya offered, and Sid saw the moment end as Zhenya’s hand dropped from his mouth and his gaze shifted to over Sid’s head.

 

“Goodbye Zhen’ka,” Sid whispered. He watched Zhenya slip into the car, Zhenya’s face already a blank, businesslike slate.

 

Sid went to find Nate.

 

***

 

Nate was sitting at the tiniest table in front of the airport terminal’s bustling Starbucks. He was studiously not looking around, staring straight ahead and taking precise measured sips, trying so hard to look inconspicuous that he might as well be wearing an orange TSA vest.

 

Sid felt himself smile involuntarily. Nate was much too big for that table and that chair, much to big to be waiting there so still and so awkward. Sid loved him for it.

 

“Hey,” Sid nearly breathed out, and he didn’t stop himself from lightly running his hand over the back of Nate’s neck.

 

Nate’s shoulders lost so much tension he nearly dissolved. “Sid.” He jumped up, and Sid found himself wrapped up in Nate’s ridiculously strong arms, wrapped up so tight Sid felt the creak as he breathed. Nate needed it. Sid did too.

 

“I thought you wouldn’t come,” Nate breathed out, quiet into Sid’s neck.

 

Sid broke free at that. “Of course I came,” Sid said, and there was that blandness back again. He lowered himself down at Nate’s tiny table.

 

Nate nearly collapsed into the seat next to him in his eagerness, and Sid knew it wasn’t just the lack of width on the table that dictated Nate’s huge thigh ended up pressed beside his own.

 

“Here, I got you this,” Nate offered, and he pushed over a Starbucks cup. He looked so young, babyfaced in a way that, when they’d first met, Sid had almost not believed he could be old enough to drink, much less be the agent assigned to such a prestigious task force.

 

Sid grabbed it up, just a bit too tepid in his palm, with the hand that wore the watch. He took an oversweet sip.

 

“It’s perfect,” Sid said, thinking of Nate juggling two cups in his overlarge hands, of him hovering over this tiny table until it opened, of him waiting too serious and too nervous, long enough for the coffee to go slightly cool, and it really, really was.

 

***

 

Sid felt his stomach fall out when Nate got the ‘Flight Delayed’ notification on his phone. Sid had left his own at home on purpose, the large obnoxiously chrome thing Zhenya had bought him after his beloved RAZR had suspiciously died, sitting sad and lonely on the hideous glass coffee table that he hated and Zhenya loved. He’d taken Taylor’s number out of it last night, while Zhenya was sleeping, and his parents have had the same one since Sid was five. There was nobody else Sid would risk contacting, and he couldn’t take it with him now. Still, he did that half-aborted pant tap of his pockets when Nate fiddled with his phone before turning and trying to people watch people _not_ Nate.

 

“Hey, It’s only thirty minutes, Sid,” Nate reassured, rubbing Sid’s shoulder. “You know better than I do that… Malkin won’t get home until tonight. C’mon, let’s find our gate.”

 

Sid had gotten used to the hesitation. That skip where ‘ _your husband_ ’, might go.

 

Sid looked at him, tried to will away the second fount of nerves that sprung up in his gut.

 

“C’mon.” Nate urged again, jerking his head and tugging at Sid’s hand. “C’mon, man.” He tried one more time, making a mockery of his serious-face, and Sid couldn’t help but smile at his ridiculousness and let himself be pulled along.

 

***

Thirty minutes turned into an hour, turned into an hour and thirty. Sid kept looking at his new watch like it would tell the future. He hadn’t wanted to bring a watch. He had intended to bring none of Zhenya’s gifts with him, but Zhenya had foiled that.  

 

Sitting and waiting made Sid feel hypersensitive, his skin open and exposed. Thank God for Nate, his palm overly warm in his. On impulse, Sid leaned over and brushed a light kiss on Nate’s cheek. He tried not to smile when Nate pinkened and turned to look at him with a private grin. He tugged Sid’s hand, moved his thigh until it rested warm against Sid’s leg.  

 

Just sitting besides Nate as they waited for their gate assignment made the heightening anxiety building inside Sid lessen. Nate’s thick thigh pressed against his was comforting, and he was close enough to smell the terrible aftershave Nate only put on for special occasions. Sid felt himself leaning in, despite the public place, angling his nose in closer, breathing in.

 

It was easier still to lean in farther when Nate threw his arm across the back of Sid’s seat. Sid slid down just enough to feel the slick and skin-warmed fabric of Nate’s dress shirt against the back of his neck.

 

They both watched their plane taxi in through the huge windows. That was his and Nate’s ticket out of here.

 

“You know,” Nate offered, looking at Sid out of the corner of his eyes. His cheeks were pink and his excitement was catching.

 

“What?” Sid asked, more than willing to be cheered up.

 

Nate turned to him more fully, pulling Sid closer to him. Sid knew from his voice that he was about to get his metaphorical pigtails pulled. “I never thought you’d be the eloping kind.”

 

“What!?!” Sid squawked, trying to draw back from Nate, drawn out from his musing.

 

“No, no.” Nate wouldn’t let him go, tucking him in further, despite Sid squirming. “I never thought you’d be into the _romance_ of it.” He threw his free hand out, dramatic. He made his voice seem low, wistful. “Getting a plane ticket to an exotic locale, leaving dramatically at a moment’s notice. Purchasing tickets together so you can sit next to your fiancé. So impractical, Sid. I’m proud.”

 

Sid felt himself flush. “You’re not my fiancé,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t keep the smile off his face. Nate’s excitement was catching, his eagerness to please was too hard to resist; he was altogether like some horrible cheerfulness virus. Sid sank into it.

 

“Not yet,” Nate rejoindered smoothly, confident. He squeezed Sid’s shoulder. “You know, they say marry first for money, second for love.” He sighed, just a bit melodramatically, settling down further into his seat, and Sid could just hit him with how warm his chest felt.

 

“Third for companionship?” Sid finished off dryly, mischievousness catching.

 

“Nope,” Nate said smugly. “You’ll have to stick to two. I’ll just have to keep you too tired to have time to look for a replacement, old man.” Nate waggled his eyebrows suggestively, giving Sid a head-to-toe once over.

 

Sid pushed at Nate’s shoulder. “I’m not that much older than you,” he defended. He felt like their roles had been replaced, Nate wheedling when they’d met that he made the ‘half-plus-seven’ rule. Barely.

 

“Old. So old. Older than dirt. Old as _balls_ ,” Nate stage-whispered, wide-eyed and dragging out the syllables.

 

It was too much for Sid, all of his nerves, all of his anxiety bleeding out in a terrible honking laugh.

 

Nate couldn’t hide his pleasure at pleasing Sid, eyes dancing and proud. “See, that’s why you’re gonna marry me. I keep you young,” he said, matter of fact, but it didn’t match the expression in his eyes. Nate squeezed his shoulder, and Sid knew he was about to lean in.

 

Sid’s eyes went to half-mast. He could feel himself tilting up, relaxing, soaking up Nate’s easy affection like unfurling leaves in the sun.

 

Nate licked his lips, and Sid got caught in it, caught in the line of his teeth and the pink of his tongue. “Nate,” he whispered, and in that moment his heart felt like it was bursting and imploding at the same time.

 

“Yeah?” Nate asked, smiling with his eyes.

 

“Don’t let me down,” Sid breathed out, so quiet he could barely hear himself, much less expect Nate to. His chest ached.

 

Nate smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. He nodded, looking altogether like he could handle the weight of all Sid’s problems on the ridiculous breadth of his wide shoulders.  “Of course not, Sid.”

 

“Sidnyusha,” Sidney heard, and his spine straightened on reflex, his heart leaping up to lodge in his throat. The word sounded wrong, too rough, missing too much softness from the low, lowing sounds in the middle.

 

Nate’s face paled before Sid’s eyes, the corners of his mouth falling down. Sid’s eyes tracked Nate’s face, tracked as Nate in turn tracked Zhenya and his careful, precise, measured steps around the bank of uncomfortable waiting chairs Nate and Sid had claimed.

 

“Sidnyusha,” Zhenya said again, and this time, Sidney turned as if he neck was on a remote. Something deep inside his guts shriveled.

 

“I thought you said he wouldn’t find the note until tonight,” Nate said to Sid and Sid could almost hit him for it, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Zhenya.

 

Zhenya ignored Nate, taking placid, even steps closer to Sid. He jerked Nate’s hard covered rolling carry-on out between Nate’s legs and between his and Sid’s bodies, forcing Nate to move his legs or sacrifice his knees.

 

Zhenya slung his leg over, sitting down on Nate’s luggage as if he owned it, dismissing Nate like he’d never even been here.

 

Sid felt frozen in place. His hands were fisted up in his suit pants and Sid had no idea how they’d gotten there. He felt cold, shocky.

 

Sid licked his lips, forced them to move. “Zhenya,” his voice creaked, and Sidney cleared his throat. “You got my letter.”

 

“This?” Zhenya asked, pulling a crumpled piece of paper out of his breast coat pocket with two fingers. It offered Sid a glance inside Zhenya’s coat, at Zhenya’s freshly pressed red shirt, at the empty spot under his arm where there should be holster where his gun always rested. It was empty. Sid took a deep breath. Small mercies for airport security.

 

Zhenya pulled the paper apart with the pads of his first finger and thumb. “ _Dear Zhenya_ ,” he read, voice high like it was when he was holding Sid’s chin and moving it to make his silly two-person-required jokes and Sid was cooperating, like when he was teasing Sid by literally putting words in his mouth, like when he was poking and prodding and pushing and teasing Sid until his sulkiness had to fall away. “ _I think we both know we’ve fallen apart, that—_ ” Zhenya’s face seemed to darken at each ensuing word, before he cut himself off, crumpling the paper in his fist. Sid winced.

 

“I’m know Sid like his romance novel,” Zhenya said, lowly, a growl in his chest, and that was enough of a familiar barb about Sid’s historical recreation novels that Sid could pull in a fortifying breath. “But I’m not know you try hand at own fiction. Is good effort. I most impressed. Speak to publisher tomorrow. ” His voice was cold.

 

Zhenya dropped the note in Sid’s lap. Sid gathered it up in shaky hands. “It’s real, Zhenya.” Sid said, quiet but even. “It’s true. Every word. I—”.

 

Zhenya raised a finger, cutting him off.  He took a deep breath, reached out his hand to clap Sid on the shoulder, before curving his hand to rest on Sid’s neck, the thumb too rough on the back of his skull. He gave Sid just a little shake. "Sidka. Stop be silly. Stop play game. Is funny, I laugh. _Ha ha_." Zhenya's face had never been so grim, eyes nearly boring into Sid. "Now come back with me. We go, have vacation. Together. I'm make time. You get what want," Zhenya offered, and his huge hand felt like a vise on Sid's neck. “You say I’m not make time, I make time. Yes? Now come,” he ordered, and his grip firmed up until it hurt a little.

 

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” Sid cried, and he couldn’t help standing up in his distress, batting away Zhenya’s hand and not caring that a stray curl got caught in the process. “It’s not funny. I’m leaving, Zhenya.”

 

“Leave?” Zhenya scoffed, standing up right with him, crowding forward in that way of his that made his shoulders seem like they’d blot out the sun. “With who? This boy? How old he? Nineteen?” He shook his head, as if the thought was too ridiculous.

 

“I’m old enough, pal,” Nate spit out, rising to his feet too, and no, no, Sid couldn’t have that, moving forward and grabbing Nate by the wrist, pulling him just a bit away.

 

Zhenya nearly purpled at the sight of Sid touching Nate. He bulled forward immediately, and just as quick Sid felt himself being tugged behind Nate’s back. Sid fought it even as he was dragged.

 

“This between me and _my husband_ ,” Zhenya growled, and he looked impossibly tall and vicious.

 

Nate pulled out his badge even as Sid tried to edge back between. “I advise you to take a step back, sir.”

 

Zhenya rolled back on his feet, the turn of his mouth going nasty.

 

“Is cop??” Zhenya snarled at Sid. “You leave me for _cop_ ,” Zhenya hissed, and he was nearly shaking now.

 

“FBI,” Nate corrected cruelly. “Now step back. He made his choice,” Nate growled out and Zhenya looked at him in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe Nate had the gall to open his mouth.

 

Sid nearly fainted when he heard the flight attendant call for boarding, first class priority..  He jumped in front of Nate, “Nate, go. Grab us a seat,” Sid pleaded, jerking his head at the front kiosk and stepping between him and Zhenya.

 

“No,” Nate said, flatly, and they were drawing notice now, the three airline employees staring as if one.

 

Zhenya caught Sid by the arms, whirled him around, and Sid almost lost his footing against his luggage, just as Zhenya snatched him back upright. Sid’s stomach curdled, with grief, with loss.

 

_With love._

 

“Let me go, Zhenya,” Sid managed to bite out evenly, laying one hand over Zhenya’s grasping hand, despite the grip almost on his elbows. Zhenya released him, took a step even closer, forcing Sid to tilt his head up, up, almost as much as he normally would for a kiss. He felt Nate, tight and coiled with unrestrained tension at his back.

 

“You not get on that plane, Sidka.” Zhenya growled out, “You not take one more step.” He advanced again, bringing them flush.

 

Sid, smiled, crooked and hurting, and took a big step back, nearly running into Nate. He fumbled with his left hand, his left ring finger, twisting and forcing the simple tungsten band off of the spot it had held for fifteen years. He shoved the band at Zhenya’s torso.

 

Zhenya’s hands sprung up to clutch it with desperate fingers, not letting it drop to the ground. “Sidka,” he breathed out, a gust of air as if punched directly in the diaphram.

 

Zhenya stopped nearly vibrating. He'd gone terribly still, holding Sid’s wedding band in his hands. Sid watched as he seemed to grow inches before his eyes, until it was almost like Sid had to look even farther up at him. "I'm kill you, Sid." Zhenya growled out. "You're mine. I'll kill you."

 

Sid laughed, and suddenly he didn't feel so sick inside anymore. "Fine," and the jut up of his chin felt natural. Sid turned back to his gate, sidled up to the flight attendant and thrust out his ticket.

 

He could feel Zhenya floundering behind him, could see it in the way Nate's mouth nearly gaped open in front of him. The way Nate had reached out for him and then frozen mid-gesture and Sid had to grab him by the arm and drag him along.

 

Zhenya stalked up behind him, until Sid could feel the heat from his body all behind him, could feel the intake of Zhenya's breath as he prepared to speak. Zhenya's words were hot against his ear. "I'm kill your boy." Sid saw the jerk of his chin at Nate out the corner of his eye.

 

“Sir--” the airline employee managed to spill out, looking wide eyed and terrified.

 

Sid cut her off. "Stop while you're ahead, Zhenya," Sid clipped out, and he didn't tremble at all until he jerked Nate up to the gate, onto the plane, and into their seats. 


	2. Chapter 2

Sid closed his eyes; let Nate take his hand up in his. His breathing was a bit rough, but it felt far away. The bustle of the flight attendants was almost soothing in a way; the way their shoulders moved oddly in their poorly fitted suit coats, the way they’d learned not to feel their feet in their low heels.

 

“Sid,” Nate asked. “Are you okay?”

 

Sid tried not to laugh. _Okay?_ His chest certainly didn’t feel it. All he could see was Zhenya’s face behind his lids every time he blinked, superimposing his face on everything. All he could see was Zhenya’s bloodless face and his lidded eyes.

 

“I’m fine,” Sid said, and it was a lie, one of those tiny little lies that built and built up until they were like tiny little bricks instead, building up a wall between two people that was mortared up with bland polite smiles.

 

He squeezed Nate’s hand in penance.

 

Nate was frustrated with his answer, cheeks red and nearly hovering with all his bulk over Sid, crowding over Sid’s aisle seat like he could physically cover Sid with his mass. “You know I’ll protect you, Sid. You know I will.”

 

Sid pulled his hand out from Nate’s; he pat the top of it, conciliatory. The statement gave Sid back his breath, but not in the way Nate’d meant.

 

“I know, Nate,” he said anyway, because Nate’s face was crunched, and Sid felt smothered by his shadow, leaning over him. He forced a smile. _Mortar_.

 

Nate took it at face value, and he settled back into his seat more fully. “Ok, Sid.” Sid could see him bite back words he’d already said to Sid, reassurances:   _Sid, you know he can’t get to me, can’t get to you. Sid, I’ve got the full force of the law behind me. Sid, I’ve heard worse threats, from worse people. Sid, of course I’m old enough to deal with this, I’m an experienced detective_ .  Sid could hear them all as if Nate was repeating them now, and they felt soft and sweet, even if there were no _Sidka_ ’s in them.

 

Sid felt bad for taking his hand away then. He flipped his hand over on his thigh, let Nate grab it up again, relieved. It _was_ comforting.

 

Nate smiled. “Whew,” he said. “I think you and I need a drink.”

***

Unfortunately, the relief didn’t last for long. Nate tried to grab a flight attendant who informed them drink service wouldn’t start until takeoff. Fine, it was a half a joke anyway, but minutes stretched and stretched, flight attendants periodically walking up and down the aisle. Sid only caught snatches of their whispered conversation, but it was all about but each word he heard made him clutch tighter at the plastic armrests.

 

Sid’s hearing blanked out halfway through the long haired flight attendant’s announcement over the intercom. grabbed It was crushing when they were told to debark.

 

Sid told himself it wasn’t worse when he debarked, when he brought up the courage to lift his head and look out the lobby, just to see Zhenya wasn’t there.

 

“Do you think he’ll come back?” Nate asked, curling his fingers around the back of Sid’s neck. Sid shrugged him off, and took the growling of his stomach as a cue to wander off towards an airport food kiosk.

 

“Yes,” Sid replied, too even and too bland. He needed to be calm, right now, to be the one with the deep even breaths and the soft-spoken words, needed to hold until Nate could unwind and work himself out of this anxious space comprised of wild eyes and pacing. He grabbed a sandwich, and gestured to ask if Nate wanted one too.

 

Nate shook his head, like Sid was nuts. Which. Fair. He took the box over to the cashier.

 

“If you’ll just tell me something, give me any information about… Malkin and his association, I can get us—”.

 

“No,” Sid cut Nate off, maybe too viciously,  but they’d been having this same conversation for weeks. “Nate. I’ve told you I won’t give you anything about Zhenya. That was the deal, and it still is.” Sid dropped his voice to a whisper, shoved a ten at the cashier. “You get me.” Sid cleared his throat, swallowed, once, twice. “That’s it. Me. No information.” He strode off, wrestling with the stupid plastic box.

 

“Sid,” Nate wheedled, and he looked so young in that moment, shoulders dropping and his limbs folding out until he looked like so much elbow instead of a grown ass man. Sid turned away.

 

“No,” Sid repeated, taking a bite of his awful airport sandwich. The bread clung to the backs of his teeth, dry and clingy as epoxy, avoiding his tongue long enough for Nate to offer:“But he’s mafia, Sid. He hurts people. He’s—,” Nate lingered.

 

“A what?” Sid clipped, shoving the sandwich back into it’s little triangle box and crumpling it’s cling wrap up in his hand. The sandwich was even worse than he’d thought it would be, and he doubted less than half of it was the actual sandwich’s fault. “A monster? A bad guy?” Sid shook away the memory of the wide-eyed version of his younger self walking out of Zhenya’s too big house for the first time with a jerk of his head. “Nate,” Sid paused, sucking the last remains of the bread out of the corner of his mouth. “I know it’s hard to understand. But I loved Zhenya once.” Sid was proud when his voice didn’t falter on the lie, skip over the past tense. “And that’s too big of a betrayal for me to conscience, on top of this one.”

 

Sid looked down. “I’d never tell him anything about you?” he placated, tried to reach out for Nate’s hand.

 

It didn’t work.

 

“A betrayal? Worse than what you’re doing now?” Nate blanched as soon as he said it. Sid put up a hand, almost got caught in the little ring of untanned skin around his ring finger. He had to take a deep breath, gather his conviction in the pit of his stomach.

 

“Exactly,” Sid said, finally. “Exactly, Nate. Is this not enough? Is this not the worst kind of betrayal you can dream of?” Sid asked calmly. “Do I really need to reach for the salt?”

 

Nate deflated. “C’mon Sid. I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant…” he trailed off, unsure.

 

Sid pushed away his sandwich. “I know exactly what I’m doing Nate,” Sid whispered, unable to make eye contact now. Sid just hoped Nate didn’t hear how much he hated himself for it.

 

Sid stared instead out the window, at the sheets and sheets of icy, sleetly rain coming down like arrows from the sky.

 

It was quiet between them in an unpleasant way, and Sid couldn't bring himself to look at Nate.

 

"What's next?" Nate asked, and Sid tried to wet his mouth to stall. Truthfully he didn't know.

 

"Nathan MacKinnon to the service desk. Calling Nathan MacKinnon. Your presence is required at the service desk at Gate B26."

 

“Ok, I guess that,” Nate said, surprised and a little frustrated. Sid looked at him curiously.

 

"Sometimes they like to check if I'm on duty, to make doubly sure they won’t have a threat on the plane they should be looking in to." Nate said. "Or they have a problem they want someone besides security to look into," he stood a little taller, preened just a little with his chest puffed out. Normally it would make Sid roll his eyes and smack him lightly. .

 

Sid nodded instead, his mouth still so dry he couldn't answer.

 

"Just wait for me. It shouldn’t take long." Nate looked around, but there wasn’t a place to sit, people piled up on floors and on luggage and crammed into every available seat. He frowned.

 

Sid laid a hand over his. “It’s ok,” he managed to get out. “I’ll head down to the food court in terminal C. Do you want anything?”

 

"I would fucking love a twinkie, man," Nate said, and he reached out his hand to catch Sid's in his, gave it a little squeeze.

 

Sid laughed, even though it came out a little stilted. "A twinkie it is," and he tried hard not to think about their first real date, shacking up in Nate's apartment and watching Zombieland.

 

"Nathan MacKinnon, please come to the service kiosk at gate B26."

 

Nate looked over his shoulder, semi-disgruntled. He squeezed Sid's hand and gave him a little playful wink. "It'll be quick," he reassured, before he took off.

 

Sid fought the urge to stand there and wait for him, but when Nate pulled up to the service desk, the flight attendant checked his ID and then pulled him aside to go into a little nondescript door for staff only, and Sid figured he better find that twinkie.

 

***

The flight attendant was cheery. "Thank you, Agent MacKinnon. One of our security team would like to talk to you. Please come this way."

 

Nate followed obediently, fighting the urge to turn around and sneak a glance at Sid. "Hey," he asked. "Do you know what's this about?"

 

The flight attendant, shrugged, then guided him into a little nondescript room, white with a small window on the door. "Here you go, sir," she offered, before ushering him in.

 

Nate drew back as soon as he entered the room, the door nearly hitting him on the ass. He heard it click shut and lock behind him.

 

“You’re not airport security,” Nate growled out..

 

Malkin sat at the interrogation table, his face surprised, like no one was more boggled to learn that he wasn’t security than him. He was draped out over his chair, long legs stretched out and one arm hooked over the back of it. He shrugged, with a boyish smile and a lackadaisical tilt of his head. “I guess I’m not.”

 

He smiled, kicked his leg out until the chair slid out from the table. “Sit,” he ordered, nodding with his chin.

 

Nate walked around the table and stopped. Malkin rolled his head back, laconic. He grinned at him. “Do you know who I am?” He asked idly.

 

Nate nodded.

 

“Good. That makes easy. Come. Sit.” Malkin ordered, and Nate found himself sinking into an uncomfortable metal chair without his volition, realizing only once he’d moved to stretch his legs out beneath the table that his was the chair with the unused leg irons under it, that his was the chair facing the one-way mirror.

 

“Here,” Malkin offered, placing a small short glass on the table, pouring a clear liquid from a bottle hiding behind the leg of the table. “Someone try and sneak in good stuff.” He tilted his head from side to side, looked at the label with a smile. “Not so good for them. But good for me. Good for _you_.” He turned to fix Nate with his smile and it sharpened enough to show the canines glinting in the corners of his mouth.

 

Nate pushed the glass back. “No thanks.”

 

“Ah, but how much does junior detective make now? Don’t be so hasty. When’s next time you be able to try?” He asked, all ice behind forced congeniality. He poured himself a shot, knocked it back, and gestured with his tattooed knuckles towards Nate’s glass.  

 

“Enough,” Nate bit out. Malkin poured another shot, generous, but he simply lined it up on the table. It looked ridiculous in his long fingers, tiny, as he nudged it into place, a drop of liquor beading on it’s rim.

 

“Enough to keep beautiful boy? Like should be kept? Like has been kept?” Malkin shook his head. “I know not. Is why I have such good success with your kind. Cop meet beautiful girl, beautiful boy, eat too much salty ninety-nine cent pasta, get stuck with big rent for tiny room, or be stuck on wrong side of window looking at pretty rings.  All of sudden I don’t seem so bad.” He gestured once more at the shot glass on the table. ”Drink,” he ordered.

 

Nate knocked it back, prepared to fake not feeling the burn in the back of his throat, but it was so smooth, smooth until it coiled like fire in his belly and burned him from the inside out. He brought the back of his hand up to his mouth, surprised.

 

“Good, yes?” Malkin smiled, amused, like he knew exactly what Nate had been doing. He poured Nate a little shot, twisting the bottle with a neat flick at the end of his pour and carefully setting the bottle within Nate’s reach. He picked up his own shot glass, didn’t drink.

 

He stared at Nate speculatively for a moment, and Nate tried not to shift in his seat. He resisted the urge to pull out his badge or to fiddle with the empty space on his thigh where his gun sat.

 

“I can be good friend,” Malkin said, eventually, dropping the sentence into the silence like a stone into a well. He pulled out a slim pocketbook. “How is hundred thousand? Never see face again. Yes? And I’m have consideration for Sid’s indiscretion, not follow up with you, later.”

 

Nate jerked back in his chair. “No!”

 

Malkin pulled out a pen, rolled it over to Nate. Nate caught it instinctively before it rolled off the table. “You put number then. How many zeros? I’m not care.” He waved his hand magnanimously. “I can afford.”

 

Nate boggled at him, before he shoved the pen back over to Malkin. It shot across the table, hit Malkin on the arm before flying to the floor. Malkin didn’t even blink.  

 

He looked at Nate, all earnest cheerfulness and charm. “You need know how to hide? I can help. Expert. No one find?”

 

“I don’t want your fucking blood money,” Nate growled out. “I don’t want a dime that’s been soaked in the blood of the innocents you’ve paved over to get here.” Nate’s breathing was harsh and loud and still in the small room, fingernails trying to curl and dig into the smooth edges of the stainless steel table.

 

Malkin reclined back, stretched his long legs out under the table, into Nate’s space. He watched him with cold eyes. Nate could almost see him turning everything over, pouring over every fact as it came to light. It was easy to imagine just how far his network had come, with a mind like this at its helm.

 

They were quiet long moments, Nate still breathing deeply, Malkin casually leaning back in his commandeered chair.

 

“What did Sid tell you?” Malkin asked, grimly, holding his checkbook and turning it over in his hands.

 

“Nothing,” Nate spit. “You’ve brainwashed him too damn well.  Congratu-fucking-lations. He won’t say a damn thing, much less about your shitty dealings.”

 

Malkin smiled coldly, too many teeth and not enough lip. He put his pocketbook away. It slid into his pocket neatly, neatly enough that Nate could see a flash of an empty leather holster.

 

Malkin reclined back even farther, crossed his fingers low on his belly. He was too long for the chair, but he perched in it like it was perfectly sized, suited just for him. “What you want know then?” Malkin asked, idly, as if he and Nate had just met at a coffee shop, as if Sid hadn’t just tried to run away with Nate, as if they were perfect strangers exchanging empty meaningless nothings. “I’m know lots,” Malkin smiled, and he looked like he was savoring a nice marbled steak. “I know about Bryzgalov. Or maybe I’m give you details about Ovechkin. Or where Federov is hide now? Big career move, catch three time FBI killer.”

 

Nate’s face wrenched up, ugly in his vehemence. “I’m in love.”

 

“Oh?” Malkin asked, and his voice was too soft and too low. “I’ve heard most before. Sidka is very pretty. Most pretty. Very easy to _love_ ,” Malkin drawled out, as if Malkin was a parent to a young and dumb fifteen year old who was too inexperienced to know love from a twitch in his pants. Nate could feel his face flaming, going from puce to red to purple. “What you want for your ‘ _love’_? What’s worth to you?”

 

Nate took a deep breath, tried to stop his hands from trembling in rage by clenching them in his pants. He closed his eyes, brought up the image of Sid, red-cheeked and smiling with mischief, his cold hand reaching up to tickle against Nate’s sides. “I pity you,” Nate said, and it was the first thing he’d managed to say evenly since he’d walked into this room and seen Malkin at the other side of the table. “You’ve had Sid for all these years, convinced him to love you, to live with you, to take your name, and now you’ll lose him.”

 

It was Malkin’s turn to purple, for him to rise out of his chair and hover over the table like some voracious beast, like the personification of rage and vengeance. His hands braced against the table top.

 

“What you want.” He bit out from clenched teeth, his voice a low growl, a threat of intent to maim, to hurt, to kill.

 

“You know,” Nate spat out, “I’m lucky you were such a shit husband. Sid would have never given me the _time of day_ if you’d just given him the attention that he needed from you. I knew the second I first convinced Sid to go out with me that I was working on borrowed time, and I never thought I’d be lucky enough to steal it all.

 

“I can’t even be upset with you,” Nate said, teeth flashing in his face, “You think you can buy everything, that you can make these big sweeping gestures and everything will go your way, but you forget that we’re all people too, people who need to feel valued and loved and _needed._ And now it’s too late, you’ve lost. Now you’ve just lost  Sid. But soon enough I’ll have taken everything else too.”

 

“I can have you dead by tomorrow. I can have you disappear,” Malkin snapped, _poof._ “I can make family go same way. Before you. After you. All at once. Or one by one, days and months in between.”

 

Nate closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “If Sid can make that decision, then so can I.”

 

Malkin quieted, eyes dark. He leaned forward over the table, into Nate’s face. “You need never leave this room.”

 

Nate smiled at him. “You’re right. I don’t. But Sid’s not going to come back to you. Sid’s smart. He’ll wait for me for a while, but he’ll figure it out mighty quick, and then he’ll slip away. And it will be the same to me.”


End file.
